


Warhammer: Age of Metal

by bren97122



Category: Warhammer Fantasy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, End Times Never Happened, F/M, Intense Violence, Multiple main characters, Slice of Life, Vignettes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:41:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29576286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bren97122/pseuds/bren97122
Summary: 250 years ago, the world almost ended.Almost.The so-called "End Times" came and passed. Now, the Empire of Man stands firm and resolute amid the dark and horrific world it inhabits. Sigmar's heirs stand to meet the darkness the way they always have, but with a few new twists.When the forces of darkness come, the Empire meets them with a little more faith, plenty of steel, and a lot more gunpowder.-An Empire-focused collection of stories set in an alternate Warhammer World, where the End Times were not the end, but just the beginning. As Chaos stirs once again and the forces of evil lie in wait, the men of the Empire prepare to show them the future of warfare.
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s), Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello valued reader!
> 
> Let me start by saying this is a very self-indulgent work. I wrote this for no other reason than I had to write it and I never intended to post it anywhere. But, I would like to share it now.
> 
> This work is a series of vignettes and short "episodes" focusing on multiple people from all walks of life throughout the Empire. Obviously, the biggest change here is the End Times never happened. Because the End Times were dumb and I don't like it. 
> 
> While mainly focused on the Empire and the Humans that inhabit it, there are looks at other parts of the world and other races to show how this world is different than we last saw it, and in some ways, the same. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

The people of the world called it “The End Times.” 

The forces of Chaos massed against civilization, like they had in a cycle that went back millenia. But this time, they conspired to bring total annihilation to everything. Not just to the Empire of Man, or to the Elves of Ulthuan, or just to the Dwarf Holds- but to all who inhabited the world. 

And so they came, swarming from the north, with the ravenous Beastmen and conniving Skaven supporting their campaign of ruin. In response, the forces of Order stood firm and resolute like their ancestors had for eons. 

The titanic battles fought during this time would be recorded as the greatest clashes in the history of the world. Millions would die at the hands of Chaos and many great heroes would fall to ensure the forces of the Chaos Gods would not carry out their plans for destruction. Even the undead and Greenskin forces stood with the Empire, Asur, and Dwarfs to preserve the world. 

For a while, it seemed hopeless. 

But then, despite the odds, Order prevailed. It took the blood of untold millions to stem the tide. Everyone from the greatest warriors and mages to the common soldier stood against the hordes of Chaos. And they won, but in the aftermath, the survivors looked at their devastated homes and wondered how much of a victory it really was. 

In the years after, as the peoples of the Old and New World slowly began to heal their lands and populace, many wondered if this could continue. The next time Chaos came, and come they will, would the world be ready? 

The races of the world, for the most part, did what they always had. The Elves prepared their magic and trained their legions. The Dwarfs dug deeper and worked to make better axes and guns. The Lizardmen consulted the Slann and their inscrutable plans. In Bretonnia, the knights continued to quest and carry out the will of the Lady, hoping she would guide them to defeat the hordes of Chaos when the time came.

The Empire faced a dilemma. Chaos would return one day and despite the bravery of its armies and the power of Imperial war machines, they would be outmatched by the sheer weight of the Chaotic tide. The Humans of the Empire could not wield the Winds of Magic like the High Elves and their technological prowess could not match that of the Dwarfs. 

But, the Men of the Empire had always been quick learners and unafraid of new technology. They were not beholden to tradition or superstition and knew that the war against Chaos had little room for such frivolousness. Every advantage had to be leveraged, every possible opportunity explored. 

It had been said that faith, steel, and gunpowder made the Empire great. In the times following the Great Chaos War, Imperial science and engineering pushed the limits of progress, making great leaps into unknown fields of science.

And so began the Age of Metal. 

In the span of a generation, the Empire was transformed. The great cities were rebuilt and expanded, their skylines taken up by buildings of steel, glass, and cement. These towering structures would mingle with the smokestacks and blackened fumes of the increasingly common factories that churned out everything the restored Empire would need. 

The great engineers and thinkers of the Empire introduced numerous inventions that revolutionized the lives of everyone- from the Emperor themselves to the common farmer. Horseless carriages that turned what were once perilous, days-long treks between cities into few hour long excursions. Lightning captured in glass bulbs that would come to illuminate the homes and streets of the Imperial towns and cities. Communication using invisible waves that allowed a person to talk to someone across the continent. The Imperial military was bolstered by a variety of weapons and engines of war the likes of which the world had never seen.

Gone are the days of the Imperial spearman and swordsman. Imperial state troops are armed with rifles, the types of which had come a long way from the handguns their forerunners employed. In the face of the foe, they respond with a hail of bullets that shredded even the most tenacious advance. The survivors fall upon a wall of bayonets forged from cold Imperial steel- if there are even survivors to meet. 

Besides the Imperial rifle, attackers would have to meet the machine guns, terrifying weapons of mass destruction that could scythe down approaching foes like a farmer scythes down wheat. Enemy lines are blasted apart by precise, destructive artillery and when the time calls for it, the Imperials call upon the Landships, descendants of the legendary and feared Steam Tanks, to blow apart opposition with their massive guns and crush the survivors under their steel threads. Unlike their Steam Tank ancestors, the modern tanks are not rare machines whose design confounded Imperial engineers and whose temperamental mechanisms required the utmost care to function for just one battle. They are mass produced engines of death, already numbering in the hundreds and with more being delivered from the factories of Nuln every day. 

It is now the year 2776, Imperial Calendar. The world has moved on from the End Times, but the danger never dissipates. The Skaven continue to infest the lands of the civilized races, Orcs continue to rampage and fight, Norsca launches raids into isolated coastlines. The Empire faces enemies within and without. Chaos cults exist in the shadows, brewing insidious plots and corrupting the people of the Empire with hollow promises and base temptations. The frontier regions continue to be plagued with bandits and warlords who took up residence following the Great Chaos War and refused to leave. In the darkest forests, the Beastmen still roam and emerge to terrorize lonely towns and homesteads. 

Worse still, there are reports that Chaos stirs once more in the wastes to the north and south. Some fear that the world’s defenses may be tested once more.

Regardless- the Empire will be there, the bastion against the darkness as it had been since the days of Sigmar. And they will do it, with steel, faith, and gunpowder at the ready.

And maybe a few more tools at hand as well.

* * *

_ Molenlecht, Grand Duchy of Talabecland _

_ Edge of the Great Forest _

The air was still and heavy with early morning humidity. Captain Edward LaCroix kept his eyes on the forest beyond the earthwork trench where he and the rest of the 13th Company, 5th Talabheim Light Rifles Regiment stood waiting.

They had been waiting since the break of dawn. Fortifying their position, checking the perimeter. Each man knew what they were waiting for. LaCroix knew the wait was becoming unbearable. Morale was high in the morning- the men had eaten well and celebrated their first major combat deployment the previous night. But now, the air was thick with apprehension. The jokes and hearty commentary of the dawn field preparation had died down. No one spoke and instead, the men of the 13th chose to grip their rifles so tight he thought they would crack the wood.

He was one of the oldest men in the company and he was barely 27 years of age. Most everyone else was 18, barely out of upper school. He knew some of his troops were still boys, 17 or even 16- the former having enlisted with their family’s permission and the latter lying about their age.

As the senior officer, he had been given the task of whipping the new company into shape over the course of a year. This was his first posting as an officer and quite a journey it had been. The troops of the 13th were all like LaCroix in a life that seemed to have passed eons ago. Fresh-faced lads with youthful swagger that chose to forego enrollment in a university or vocational school following their graduation. They all had their own reasons and every one of them LaCroix understood. 

Some wanted adventure, to see beyond their farmstead, rural town, or the blocks of the cities. Some wanted out of a poor home life. Some came from military families and sought to make their parents and ancestors proud. Of course, some truly believed in serving the Empress and bringing Her fury unto the enemies of civilization. And some- some came to the Imperial Army because they had nowhere else to go.

Seeking to make their ancestors proud was the reason LaCroix stood where he was today. Over 200 years ago, his ancestors were a peasant family that fled the devastated lands of Bretonnia to seek protection and opportunity in the Empire. They found it in the lonely, verdant lands of Hochland. Three of their five sons joined the Imperial state troops and cut their teeth fighting the pockets of Beastmen and Chaos forces that remained within the Empire’s borders. Ever since, the sons of the LaCroix family either went into the military or acquired a trade to support the military in some way. Such was their way of thanking the nation and people who gave them an opportunity that would have been impossible to find in Bretonnia. 

Whatever the reasons, LaCroix devoted himself to shaping this collective of farmers, shopkeepers, longshoremen, factory workers, fishermen, cattlemen, blacksmiths, pickpockets, and various others into a cohesive fighting force worthy of bearing the Imperial standard and shouldering a state-issued rifle. 

The last few months had been spent skirmishing with bandits, patrolling the highways, and rooting out small Goblin camps in the woods. There had been casualties, sure, but the men of the 13th had yet to experience the true meatgrinder of war.

Until today.

He could sense they were scared. Of course they were. He would have been concerned if they were not. They were about to face down living horrors the likes of which they had only read about in books, seen paintings of, or more recently, witnessed in overly dramatic fashion in a motion picture.

His men leapt at the first gunshots that broke out deep in the woods. A murmur ran through the ranks.

They picked up in intensity.

“Steady now!” he shouted to his men in earshot. 

The gunfire continued sporadically before finally abating. It took several more minutes for the shooters to emerge from the woods.

Emerge was not the right word. The men rather melted from the dark undergrowth of the woods. They were men of the Sorland Scouts, elite forest skirmishers and scouts descended from Imperial scouts trained by the Wood Elves in the aftermath of the Great Chaos War.

They were one with the forest. Even in the daylight, it took LaCroix a few moments to determine where the woods ended and the men began. They looked like the forest itself on the move, with their dark green jackets and trousers and mottled cloaks with abstract splotches of green, brown, and black acting as camouflage. 

But, as they ran the few hundred yards back to the Imperial lines, LaCroix reassured himself they were men. Their rifles were held with one hand and they bounded across the terrain, determined to put distance between themselves and the forest. 

The scouts reached the trenches, slipping past the riflemen of the 13th and heading for the rear of the Imperial lines. LaCroix heard a few of them breathing hard from exertion as they filed past his men. They had done their jobs. Now it was time for them to do theirs. 

“Company, fix bayonets!” he ordered.

The order was repeated down the line by his officers. There was the sound of leather and cloth rustling as the men withdrew the bayonets that went with their rifles. 

The trench was filled with the sound of hundreds of bayonets slotting into place. At 17 inches long, the Pattern 2750 Imperial Model bayonet was less of a bayonet and more of a short sword. It could be used as one as well, should the soldier be separated from his rifle. 

LaCroix drew his own sword and pistol. He had a fleeting thought- if he had to use both of these weapons, then the situation had become quite desperate.

He checked the magazine of his pistol and stepped up on the fire step of the trench.

“Company, present!” he bellowed. 

His men all stepped up onto the firestep, allowing them to raise their rifles and lean them on the ground for stability. In seconds, hundreds of rifle muzzles were pointed in the direction of the woods past their defenses.

“Make ready!” 

With drilled-in, rote precision, the men of the 13th snapped off the safeties of their rifles with a flick of a thumb and turned the bolt to chamber a round. 

A few moments of silence passed as the men stood at attention, waiting for the foe. LaCroix relished the golden moment of complete silence just before battle. He looked to his soldiers. He had faith in them, confidence in their abilities. But now, looking at their wide eyes and cold sweat dripping down their pale faces, he saw just a bunch of boys in ill-fitting black tunics and flared steel helmets that looked much too big for them.

He shook the thoughts from his mind. They put their faith in him this past year. He would put his faith in them in return.

The woods themselves appeared to quake. From the trees, they could begin to make out roars and shouts that were both Human and not quite Human. 

The shrubs and canopies of trees began to shake as if some great stampeding herd was coming through. Then again, that’s exactly what it was.

The first of the Beastmen emerged from the deep undergrowth of the forest. Vile, bestial parodies of Mankind, numbering in the hundreds. Holding their crude weapons aloft, they came screaming toward the Imperial lines, having been drawn out of the woods by the scouts. LaCroix could smell their fetid, tangled hides even from his position some distance away. Their hooves pounded the grass, kicking up dust and clods of dirt in their mad dash to fall upon the Imperials and sate their bloodlust. 

The Sorland Scouts had coaxed them out by killing a few of their number and then falling back. Instincts and the shared hatred for Man did the rest. This herd threw their numbers toward the Imperial guns, thinking little of the outcome and apparently thinking only about the potential to feast on Human flesh. 

The first rank was composed of Ungors, carrying swords, axes and spears. As was the usual among the Beastmen tribes, the leadership sent forth the numerous, physically weaker, and less bestial Ungors first into the fray to absorb the bulk of enemy missile fire and to soften up the defenses for the more elite and higher caste Beastmen.

Behind their Ungor meat shields were the savage Gors and hulking Minotaurs. A few Gors shoved to the front of the ravening horde, wanting to be in the thick of the fighting. LaCroix saw a few of the massive Bestigors pushing through the press of bodies and to the front, intending to smash their way through the Humans. These Beastmen even wore scraps of armor crafted by the more dexterous Ungors or looted from past battles. Not that it would help too much against the modern Imperial Army. Because now, the Imperials were about to meet the thundering Beastmen with thunder of their own.

Some distance to the rear of the Empire’s lines, LaCroix could hear the rumbling of the Imperial artillery batteries. He allowed himself a small grin as the shells whistled overhead a few seconds later. 

While the Empire’s artillery had always been feared on the battlefield in times past, the modern breech-loading Imperial field gun was a far cry from the comparatively archaic mortars and cannons that served during the Great Chaos War. A precise tool of destruction that could lob shells from miles away, a field gun could decimate entire armies before they could even sight Imperial foot soldiers. 

And such was the case when the first shells landed into the thick of the Beastman advance.

The first shell vaporized dozens of Ungors. More were torn apart, their remains sent flying in every which way. A second shell caused similar devastation. Even those who were not within the detonation radius were felled by the violent pressure shockwave that ruptured organs and shattered bones. 

The Imperials cheered, the sight of the Empire’s gun decimating the bestial hordes was quite the morale boost indeed. But, LaCroix knew better than to become confident in the prospect of an easy victory over such a savage foe. 

The Beastmen cared little for the numbers being thinned out by the artillery. Their primitive instincts spurred them on and on, the prospect of combat and ripping apart the hated Humans being an attractive thought. 

A few ranks of Ungors were beginning to waver, their slightly more developed brains realizing the danger of the situation. They attempted to turn back to the woods, but their Gor and Bestigor masters corralled them and pushed them back in the direction of the enemy, breaking the skulls of a few who foolishly resisted. 

The guns continued to fire unabated. Scores of Beastmen were killed, but scores continued their charge. They were swiftly coming into effective range of the Imperial rifles and soon the field guns would cease firing to avoid friendly fire. 

The shouts and roars of the surviving Beastmen filled the air as their forms became larger and larger with their approach. In the trench, the 13th Company braced themselves. To his right, LaCroix heard a man loudly offering a prayer.

“Ulric, god of war, protect your stalwart servant, dull mine enemy’s blade, corrode his armor…” 

“Men of the 5th Talabheim! This is the moment we earn our place in the roll of honor at Altdorf! Stand firm and show these savages what Imperial steel can do!” LaCroix shouted as loud as he could, making his voice heard above the din of the incoming Beastmen. 

“Now!” he continued, having little time left for speeches, “pick your targets and fire at will!” 

The roars of the Beastmen were met with the crack of hundreds of Imperial rifles. 

The first rank of Ungors collapsed, their hides pierced by bullets. The Imperial soldiers worked the bolt of their rifles, sending out smoking brass casings. Another volley was let loose. The Ungors next in line all fell down, cut down with merciless efficiency. One shot, one kill- just as the men were drilled. 

The few Ungors that were not immediately killed by shots to the head or vital organs still fell, wounded and immobile. Most of these unfortunates were trampled by their Beastmen brethren. A few were nicked in arteries and were able to keep up their roaring charge before finally stumbling and passing out from exsanguination.

The 13th Company kept firing. Beastmen corpses were piling up and tripping the survivors. But still, they came, undeterred by the wall of death they ran headfirst into.

As the surviving Beastmen closed the distance, LaCroix signaled the men whose guns he had kept quiet until the right moment. 

The Maximus-8 machine gun required three men to operate efficiently. A heavy, unwieldy piece of steel, it was effectively restricted to a stationary point for the majority of the battle. A Maximus fired 500 rounds of standard .303 caliber ammunition a minute. A single one was enough to break a charge by a much larger, disorganized enemy force. LaCroix had several to work with.

An effective machine gunner knew that while he had plenty of ammo on hand, it was important to spend it wisely and work in tandem with his assistant gunners to feed a new 250 round belt into the gun. He also trusted the bulky water filled cooling jacket over the barrel to ensure he could press down the trigger and hose down his enemies without fear of overheating.

An effective commander positioned the machine gun crews in such a way to fully take advantage of the theory almost euphemistically known in the army as “interlocking fields of fire.” That is, positioning the guns in such a way that the oncoming enemy had nowhere to run and nowhere to hide to avoid being raked by bullets. 

At this point, LaCroix was very well versed in putting this theory into practice.

At his command, the sharp  _ cracks  _ of the Imperial bolt-action rifles were joined by the barking of the Maximus guns. The Beastman force was blunted against the hail of fire. In minutes, few remained standing. The few with sense and no injuries turned tail back to the safety of the woods. 

A Minotaur, blood leaking from several bullet wounds, smashed through a pack of wavering Ungors and bellowed as it held its crude axe aloft. Its battlecry was cut short by a bullet that slammed through its meaty forehead. The brutish creature fell flat onto its back. LaCroix could have laughed at that moment. No matter how big you were, a .303 caliber round through the brain will make you as dead as anything else. 

And so it continued. Fire, turn the bolt, fire, reload, repeat. The guns barked and a neat pile of brass casings formed around LaCroix’s boots.

Twenty minutes later, the air was still once more.

* * *

The worst part was never the battle itself. It was before the battle and after the battle. 

Before a battle, one would drive himself insane thinking about the upcoming action, a million “what-ifs” that would drive the inexperienced to madness. After a battle, you had to take stock- of yourself, of your friends, of your brothers-in-arms. One would have to see who had lived, who had died, who was maimed, and who was unaccounted for. 

After this battle, that part was mercifully short. Private Gottfried received a javelin to the shoulder, tossed by an incredibly lucky Ungor that managed to get close enough without being shot. There was plenty of blood, but the medics said he would live.

Other than Gottfried, there were no casualties among the 13th Company. The same could not be said for the Beastmen.

The estimate was 400 enemy killed in action. There were also many wounded and the job of the 13th was to now deal with them.

LaCroix turned over his sword and firmly stabbed the blade through the heart of a mewling Ungor. The rest of the company milled around the battlefield, each man policing the field of corpses, the relative calmness of the day punctured by the sound of a bayonet piercing flesh or a rifle shot.

The Empire was not averse to taking prisoners. Depending on the commander and their reason for capture, the punishment could range from summary execution, shipping off to Imperial prisons, or being stripped of their arms and armor and being allowed to return home. Such things were reserved for civilized races. There were some beings in this world that could not be afforded the privilege of honor and mercy. The Greenskins, the Dark Elves, Norscans, and especially those involved in Chaos plots. The Beastmen were a part of this group. 

LaCroix felt that a bayonet through the heart or a bullet to the brain was mercy beyond words compared to what the Beastmen would be doing to the surviving Humans if they were the victors. 

His soldiers were once again in good spirits- as they should be. They got their first taste of real combat. Now, they’d want more. They were not yet weary of war and what it could bring. 

LaCroix passed a pair of privates. They snapped salutes at him and LaCroix praised them for their discipline and composure. He did this with every man he ran into and he meant it. His faith in the company was not misplaced.

In time, they would depart and the workers of the Battlefield Remediation Corps would arrive to gather the broken bodies of the Beastmen and whatever associated detached remains there were to be tossed onto large pyres. The charred bones and ashes would be buried in an unmarked mass grave and this little clearing at the edge of the woods would be ready for war once more. 

LaCroix doffed his cap and wiped sweat from his brow. The sun was up, burning away the last vestiges of morning fog. 

Just another day in Her Majesty the Empress’s Imperial Army.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that!
> 
> Anyway, I just wanna talk a little bit about the aesthetics of the Empire military and Empire in general at this point in history, since I always like to help readers visualize what I'm trying to describe. As the Empire is a bunch of Fantasy Germans, I felt it only appropriate to continue that trend. The Imperial military, for the most part, wears uniforms resembling those of the Imperial German Army in the later years of the First World War. Button-up tunic, optional trench coat, wool trousers, lace-up leather boots, and the iconic Stahlhelm. Accessories vary greatly based on the origin of the soldier and their personal preference. For example, soldiers of the Imperial Army or the armed forces of wealthier provinces typically wear leathers gaiters. Soldiers from less affluent regions have to make do with cloth puttees.
> 
> While the "Fantasy Germans" theme persists, inspiration from weapons spans multiple sources. The Imperial Rifleworks No. III, Alteration V rifle that is currently standard-issue issue for the Imperial Army is based on the British Lee-Enfield SMLE Mk. III. Officers and some enlisted soldiers privately purchase their own sidearms, with the Bellum Model 9, based on the legendary Luger P08, being a popular choice. But of course, there's plenty of guns in the Empire and weapons take inspiration from a variety of weapons commonly used throughout the late 1800s to the 1920s in our world.


	2. Chapter 2

_Altdorf, Grand Principality of Reikland_

_The Imperial Palace_

With her morning meeting and conference with the advisors done, Empress Karolina Korth liked to do one thing before breakfast. That was to walk. 

It gave her two things: a bit of exercise and a reprieve from the matters of state for just a little bit. 

There were always nobles wanting to curry favor, guildmasters complaining about something, generals and mercenary captains requesting more men and guns for a prosecution against the Beastmen or Greenskins or some Chaos cult that took over a rural town. She handled them all, every single one that came before her, but sometimes, she just needed a little bit of a getaway. 

She relished every second as it was her one time for true peace and quiet. Even retreating to her bedchambers for the night was not a guarantee of peace. Many times she had been woken in the early hours of the morning to receive urgent news from her staff or generals. She understood, but that did not stop her from growing a bit weary after four years of this and many more to go.

Four years ago she was Countess Karolina Korth, the Elector Countess of Nordland. The Korth family was “new money” and their name only began to be mentioned as part of Imperial nobility starting a mere 75 years earlier. They were the first family in Nordland to open a shipyard building steamships. Many scoffed at the investment in still-new and untrusted steam engines. A decade later and Korth paddle steamers were a common sight in the various rivers and waterways of the Empire. Korth Steamer Industries received order after order from shipping guilds and eventually, the Imperial Navy. 

After members of the notoriously corrupt Von Drake dynasty that ruled Nordland for the last twenty years were proven to be worshipers of the Dark Gods, the Korth family secured their place, with Karolina’s father Markus becoming the elector count of Nordland, a title he passed onto his eldest daughter, Karolina herself, close to his death.

Four years ago, Empress Wanda Kamarov suddenly abdicated, citing ongoing and progressive dementia that was negatively affecting her role as head of state. In the political debacle that followed, Karolina was elected empress- a role she did not seek and the very last office she expected to hold. She was 32 when she took the throne, one of the youngest people to ever become emperor. 

She exited the airy banquet hall that led out to a quiet cloister. The two guards that flanked the exit saluted as she passed. This area was officially unnamed and was an anonymous addition made by an emperor in years past. Still, it remained one of her favorite places in the palace for reasons she could not articulate. 

In this little sanctuary, she could collect her thoughts and think about the day ahead as she walked between the shadows cast by the arches. Rarely was she disturbed here and she enjoyed it while it lasted.

Continuing her walk, Karolina exited the cloister and returned indoors. Moving in the direction she had just left was a six-man Reiksguard patrol headed by a senior officer, this one being Captain Andreas Krieger.

Captain Krieger and his men snapped sharp salutes as they passed.

“Good morning, ma’am!” Krieger greeted, a broad smiling accentuating the three wicked scars on his left cheek.

“Andreas, keeping the peace, I presume?”

“Yes, ma’am. Keeping the rabble out.” 

Karolina smiled.

“The rabble I have no problem with. The brown-nosing noblemen are the ones we should be looking out for.”

“Off the record, I might have to agree, but you know the laws of the land…”

She snorted.

“Intimately familiar.” 

Karolina greeted the rest of the men by name- Oliver, Henry, Sebastian, Otto, Alphonse, and Thom. As the household guard of an Altdorf-dwelling emperor, Karolina thought it prudent to know who each of them were. Not to mention that these men would lay down their lives for her in an instant. It was the least she could do.

In ages past, the Reiksguard rode atop armored horses in gleaming full plate armor, running down the enemies of the Empire and skewering them upon their lances. Nowadays, the image of mounted knights in shining armor was relegated to the stories of old and dime novels. The Rekisguard had long ago traded in full plate for a polished steel cuirass and modern field jackets and trousers that retained the traditional red and white color scheme. 

Their lances and swords were now under glass display cases in Castle Reikguard outside of Altdorf. They carried the same standard-issue Imperial Rifleworks No. III, Alteration V bolt-action rifle as most Imperial infantry did, but with stocks made of fine ebony wood and metal components composed of brushed silver. Their curiassess were inscribed with the symbols of the Reiksguard and the Empire and typically trimmed with gold. Despite the ostentatiousness absent from most modern Imperial units, the Reiksguard were not all about show. 

Slung across their chest plates was leather webbing carrying stripper clips and loose rounds for their rifles. Attached to their belts were holsters for pistols or revolvers. The men of the Reiksguard were allowed to carry a sidearm of their choosing, so long as it conformed to a few standards. Captain Krieger, for example, carried a Landerson Manufacturing Peacekeeper revolver with a carved ivory grip. It stuck out of its fine black leather holster, the light coming in from the nearby windows illuminating the raised Twin Tailed Comet inlaid on the grip. Karolina heard that a new inductee petitioned to carry an antique black powder flintlock pistol a distant ancestor had used during the Great Chaos War. Reikmarshal August Bauer appreciated the poetic meaning carrying such a weapon would have bought, but insisted the young man procure something more modern. 

Of course, this was not to mean the old ways of swordplay were forgotten, even in this age of firearms and machines. Every member of the Reiksguard was a master swordsman and carried a sword as a back-up weapon. This was usually a thin, single-edged sabre, which was favored by officers and cavalrymen.

The Reiksguard moved on with their patrol, leaving Karolina behind with the stamping of their impeccably polished black boots. She continued on and slipped out a side door to an open-air plaza. In the center of this plaza was a grand statue of Karl Franz the Great, emperor during the Great Chaos War, who fell during the climax of the war against Chaos at Middenheim. A man she read about extensively when she was a student at the University of Altdorf and a man she tried her best to emulate through her rule. 

This statue, crafted from Tilean marble and standing nearly fifteen feet tall, depicted Franz standing tall and proud in his armor, Ghal Maraz at the ready in his right hand. When Karolina needed to think, she would come here and sit on a bench before the statue.

She sighed.

“What would you do?” she asked softly to the impassive statue.

Karolina’s troubles paled in comparison to what Karl Franz faced down in his last days. Beastmen rampaging through the countryside, Skaven undermining the Empire’s cities, and the hordes of Chaos bearing down for what they thought would be a final victory. Any lesser man would have attempted to save himself. But, Franz was there in the trenches, riding atop his Griffon Deathclaw into the heart of the Chaos horde. It was said that his body was found surrounded by 300 dead Chaos warriors. 

In the years after, Karl Franz became venerated in some circles as an avatar of Sigmar. But, Karolina saw him as a Human, just like her. A Human reluctantly thrust into an extraordinary situation who would end up being the one to hold Humanity together in the face of what many thought would be the end of the world. 

Karolina’s troubles seemed small now. Her schedule for today involved having audience with the various nobles that managed to worm their way into the court, hearing the grievances of the guildmaster of the Reikland Mining Guild, meeting with an emissary of the Dwarf Hold Karak Kadrin, and saying some words at today’s meeting of the Imperial Parliament.

All in all, manageable compared to what other heads of state had to deal with. 

She rubbed her temples. Franz was what every emperor should aspire to be like, so people said. A shrewd diplomat and statesman. A fearless warrior. 

Karolina thought she was on her way to learning how to do the first part well enough. The “fearless warrior” part? She could barely lift Ghal Maraz with both hands and she almost cut off her left hand the last time she tried to spar with her Runefang. 

Just when Karolina was beginning to relax, a pair of running feet interrupted her thoughts.

One of her staff was sprinting across the plaza, a missive in his hands.

“Ma’am! Ma’am!” he breathlessly greeted, offering her the sealed note.

“What is it, Grigori?” 

“Your eyes only, my lady.” 

She took the note and unsealed it. General von Hal needed her attention immediately in the “war room.” 

Karolina rose, smoothing out her dress and taking one last look at Franz.

 _We’ll talk more later_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a random note: Empress Karolina Korth kinda looks like Florence Welch, the lead singer of the band Florence + The Machine.


End file.
